Lill-a-by.

When you're still up at 2:30 a.m, you might as well throw a blog in the fire, no?

Hm. That line might be reason enough to put the computer down and walk away.

I think I was more productive today (read: post rolling out of bed at 9 a.m.) than I've been in the last month. My back has curved to the form of the dining room chair I brought in to sit on. My mouth tastes of thrice-reheated French Vanilla coffee. The dirty pot from my break spent on a foray into experimental cooking (or any cooking at all) glares at me through the wall and into the room where I now sit. But I'm wild and crazy, and the crud of tonight's Bombay Fire creation (thank you Calcutta Heat seasoning) will just have to await cleansing until I'm up and at 'em tomorrow.

Not that I can fathom that once I'm in a bed I will ever rise again, but let's pretend.

I made the mistake of reading the news before going to bed. For this reason, I know that my dreams will now feature Ashley (who is quickly becoming "the angelic and compassionate Troll sister". Um, I mean Olsen Twin). They might have a cameo by Babbs, given that I misread CNN's headline about "Jury deadlocks in videotaped trial" to read "Jury dreadlocks". And then there's the woman who stole a law firm's identity. I don't know how you do that; I'm assuming that if I reread the story when I'm un-delirious-efized, I might get it. But maybe not even then.

Today's confession: at the gym, I found myself captivated by Dr. Phil's words of wisdom. He's a meanie, but he packs a punch. It made my workout go by faster, and now I'm concerned that it might enter into the elite ranks, joining CHARMED as "Things I'd Never Watch Unless I Was A Handcuffed Prisoner Placed Before It or If I Am At The Gym-- In Which Case I Will Start to Like It Against My Will."

So with these rambling words, I retire to my bed, fearful of the fact that it's only... Tuesday.